Chopping block.

Happy Sunday Funday, everyone!! I so far totally hate all my posts. But I am going to keep doing it; I think it's one of those things that totally suck, but is good for you. Especially in that I want all of you to think that I am really so very awesome, and if I am writing things about my feelings and things I care about, you will all realize that I'm just a big poser, and not very cool at all. (I sooo hope you won't think that!!)


So, I chopped off all my hair! I did it on Friday, totally on a whim. In the past, I have gotten really emotional when I've cut my hair- especially when going from very long to short. I've literally burst into tears after and hated myself for doing something so drastic. And this is after planning the haircut waaaaaay in advance. So, I told the receptionist when I made the appointment that it would probably be best to have someone very awesome/ sympathetic because I might be having this reaction... I go to the Aveda Pure Talent Salon, and see a different stylist every time so I can't build up haircut stress, or a personal relationship where I feel bad to tell the girl or guy if I'm not getting what I want. This is all due to the crazy, crying, past haircut trauma. So. I went. Chopped it off! About 12 to 13 inches!! And I didn't cry at all! It was amazing. I was really ready to let that hair go. The stylist, her name was Hannah, was great, and put the hair into two ponytails before cutting it, and I literally watched her saw through it in the mirror. I laughed through the whole thing.


I can see many of you furrowing your brows like this is really something kind of stupid to get so worked up about, because hair grows back, and who cares, and etc. You are totally right. But for some reason, my hair has always been a really big deal to me, whether it is long or short, but especially when I have grown it out long for a while. It kind of has a special meaning when you've grown your hair very long, and for me, I think I needed that long hair like a shield when my dad got sick, and Garett cut his fingers really bad and needed 38 stitches, and we had decided to try to get pregnant, and did, really fast, and then lost it. That's something I don't ever share, and something that growing my hair out seemed to protect me against. Hard to explain, but that's how I felt. And Now, I feel like I don't need that shield. We are starting to do okay, better than okay, and my dad's cancer has been over a year in remission, and I feel great and ran a marathon last June to prove it, and Garett's fingers work again, and he got a new job, and I am not eating meat anymore and I feel like it is suddenly okay to cut my hair and do something creative and tell people that a lot of really bad things happened to us at the end of 2008 and all the way through 2009. But 2010 was awesome, and we are still here, and I suddenly don't feel ashamed to admit that all that bullshit happened. Because we survived it! And we are actually all better for it. Definitely some scars- especially G's fingers- but we are here! I am proud of that.


I am letting go of all the stress of that time in our lives and looking toward what we have yet to accomplish. When I was in college, I took a semester and the summer off to travel in my van and work on the Renaissance Festival circuit. I was totally hippy-ed out and my parents were devastated and thought I would never return to finish school and just become a life long burn- out. That is a blog for another day... probably several other days... but in my travels I was friends with this awesome woman, Leah. She had spent time in the Rasta community and had really lived a lot of experiences. I really respected her take on the world. She told me, the reason why hairdressers know so much gossip is because our hair is our history. When someone touches or holds onto your hair, they are holding onto months, or even years of your life and experience. That's why so many people dish about their lives on the stylist's chair, because their history and what is going on with them is literally being touched. I believe it. That's why I think I needed to hold onto that hair while my dad was very ill; because it was the hair that danced with him on my wedding night. I needed to hold onto the history where he was okay, and so was I, and so was everyone, before we all had the worst year of our lives. That hair was the wreckage that I was clinging to after the storm tore the ship apart.


And now we are a year out from that storm, and I think I can finally let down the shield. I donated my ponytails to Wigs 4 Kids, who makes free wigs for children suffering from blood cancers, courtesy of the Childhood Leukemia Foundation, in honor of my dad, Roger Granere, who's really just a big kid himself and skied upwards of 40 days since he has been cancer free. Can I just say, I'm jealous of that.


Good resources for donating your hair to children and learning about blood cancers are cfl4kids.com, and leukimia.org. My dad's type of blood cancer is called multiple myeloma.


Thanks for reading. XO, Val